


Boxing Up A Life Together

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with moving to a retirement cottage by the coast together is that it involves packing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxing Up A Life Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trillsabells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trillsabells/gifts).



“We're running out of boxes,” said John.

“We can't be,” said Sherlock. “I calculated the volume we'd require precisely.”

“And yet, we only have two left and I still have a bookcase to go.”

Sherlock looked up from the box he was crouched over with a frown. “You haven't been packing to maximum efficiency, then.”

John gave him an unimpressed look. “I'm perfectly efficient, thanks. I've packed nearly twice as many boxes as you, because I don't keep getting distracted.” He'd had to take over packing their books when it became clear that Sherlock thought packing involved rereading every volume before he put it in a box and, if it was one of John's, deriding every plot point as he did so.

“I wouldn't be distracted if this wasn't such a mind-numbingly monotonous task,” muttered Sherlock.

“You were the one who didn't want a packing company to do it for us.”

Sherlock made a face. “Do you really want strangers pawing through all our belongings?”

John wasn't really that bothered about that if it meant he didn't have to spend hours putting things into boxes but Sherlock clearly hated the idea, so he just made a humming noise.

“I'll finish this one then go and get some more boxes.”

Sherlock huffed. “My calculations were perfect,” he muttered. “You've been doing it completely wrong.”

John pretending he couldn't hear him with all the ease of decades of practice. “I'll pick us up dinner as well. Chinese?”

“Thai,” said Sherlock. “Oh, John, look what I've found.”

John glanced over to see Sherlock holding up a piece of paper. “What is it?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Your eyesight is going.”

“No, it isn't,” scowled John.

“No need to worry, you'll look good in glasses,” said Sherlock. He passed the paper over to John. “It's the letter about Bluebell.”

“Bluebell?” asked John, taking it and squinting down at the child's scrawl and the careful drawing of a rabbit surrounded by a golden halo. “Oh! The rabbit.”

“Indeed,” said Sherlock. He gave John a fond smile. “That was our first romantic mini-break.”

“You drugged me with a hallucinogen, locked me in a lab, and made me think a supernatural, killer dog was stalking me,” John pointed out.

Sherlock chuckled. “Good times.”

“Not really, no,” said John. “Is this going in the rubbish, then?”

“Of course not,” said Sherlock, taking it back. “It should be in the case folder. Where did that get put?”

“It's already packed,” said John, waving at the stack of boxes by the door. “And no, you can't go hunting through them all to find it, I've sealed them now.”

Sherlock made a face. “Fine, I'll put it somewhere safe where I can find it and put it in the right place when we unpack.”

He would do no such thing, he'd forget all about it until the next time he stumbled over it, probably years from now. “Fine,” said John, already resigned to the fact that the cottage they were retiring to was going to be just as disorganised as 221B was. “Where's safe, then?”

Sherlock considered for a moment and then leapt to his feet. “Here”, he said, grabbing a book John hadn't packed yet. “I'll put it in here.” He slid the letter inside and then turned to hold the book up to show John. _Watership Down_. “After all, they are both about bunnies.”

“'Bunnies'?” repeated John, with amusement. “Ickle wickle flopsy bunnikins?”

“'Bunny' is a perfect valid word,” said Sherlock with sniffy haughtiness. “Several of those are not. And they make you sound like an idiot.”

John shrugged. “According to you, most of what I say makes me sound like an idiot.” He put the last book in the box he was packing and taped it up, then stood up with a clicking of joints and an involuntary moan. He was definitely getting old. “Okay, time for Thai. And more boxes.”

“The suggestion to retire didn't make you sound like an idiot,” said Sherlock.

John blinked in surprise at the unexpected approval. Sherlock's compliments were just rare enough to make each one stand out as special. “Right,” he said. “Okay, well. Tell you what, once we're all settled in, we could always get you a bunny. We'll have enough space.”

Sherlock actually looked as if he was contemplating that for a minute, then shook his head. “No, no good. Too much risk of it getting stung by the bees.”

“Very charitable of you,” said John, stretching, then paused. “Wait, what bees?”

Sherlock gave him the kind of smile that usually meant there had been a double murder. “ _My_ bees, John! I'll have at least three hives.”

Oh god. So much for a peaceful retirement.


End file.
